


The Struggle

by EmeraldandSilver



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Anxiety, Bisexual Character, Coming Out, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gay Male Character, Heartbreak, Homophobia, Love Triangles, M/M, Multi, Otabek is 20, Panic Attacks, Viktor retires from figure skating, Yuri has a potty mouth, Yuri is 18, Yuuri is 26, alternating pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9449174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldandSilver/pseuds/EmeraldandSilver
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky hears the news that Viktor and Yuuri have broken up, but he won't believe it until Yuuri tells him himself. Will Yuuri Katsuki retire for good this time, or will he keep skating under a new coach? Yuri will do whatever it takes to help Yuuri succeed, while hiding his own unrequited feelings. Meanwhile, Otabek has something he wants to tell Yuri, but keeps missing his chance.





	1. Chapter 1

Yuri Plisetsky stared at his cell phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. Should he make the call? His heart pounded in his chest, as sweat collected on his brow. Though he worried about what he might learn, he couldn't just sit there without knowing the truth.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tapped the screen. It was happening now. The call that could change everything—or nothing at all.

The phone rang in his ear, taunting him. Three rings. How stupid. As if he would actually answer his call!Five rings.

Yuri was ready to chuck his phone across the room when the phone finally clicked. He waited for the voicemail message. If he could just hear his voice, it would be enough...for now.

“Hello?”

His heart sprang into his throat. Just from that one word, he could hear the raw voice, made so by hours of crying. “Katsudon, is...”

“It's true.” Yuuri's voice got higher at the end, as if he were asking a question, still trying to process the news himself.

“Why did he—”

“It doesn't matter why,” he said, sounding dejected. Then his tone abruptly shifted to bitterness. “Come on. Admit it. You've always thought I wasn't good enough for him.”

“That's not true.” It was the opposite. Viktor was never good enough for Yuuri, but he couldn't say that. He had to keep his old feelings buried deep.

“Don't pretend to be nice to me. That pisses me off the most.” Sniffles sounded over the line, and guilt stabbed at Yuri's chest. He didn't want to contribute to Yuuri's tears, but with the way he had acted for the past three years, he didn't blame Yuuri for thinking poorly of him.

“What am I supposed to say then?” Yuri snapped, impatience making his words come out harsher than intended. “Viktor's an idiot? I've known from the start how flaky he is. He's tried to date people before, but it always ends once he seems like he'll settle down. I tried to warn you time and time again. You should never have gotten involved with him.”

Silence. Now he had done it. Yuuri would hang up, move back to Japan, and never contact him again. All because he'd finally told the truth. Served him right for lying this whole time.

“Do you feel relieved?”

Yuri's heart nearly exploded. Fuck. Did Yuuri know about his feelings? No way. That had to be impossible. Yuri twisted his long hair up, prying it from his sweaty neck. “Why would I feel relieved?” he asked, bitterness in his voice.

“Don't you want me to go back to Japan and retire from skating?”

“Fuck no.” A fierce blush spread across Yuri's face. He could feel the burn of it, the embarrassment clawing deep inside him. “I want to keep competing against you. Who else is gonna challenge me once you're gone?”

“Otabek?”

Yuri snorted. It was true that Otabek was improving immensely as a skater. For the past year, he'd been training in St. Petersburg under Yakov, so Yuri was able to watch his progress day by day. But competing against Otabek wasn't the same as competing against Yuuri. Otabek didn't glide with the music the same way...

Yuuri sighed, then laughed softly. “Maybe you'll be willing to help me then.”

“Help you with what?”

“I want Yakov to be my coach. Since Viktor's retiring, he should have room for another skater. Could you, uh, wow this is strange to ask, but could you put in a good word for me?”

Yuri huffed, feigning annoyance, but in reality he was trying to control his shock. Yuuri actually wanted to continue skating? “Fine. I'll put in a good word. Just one word, though.” _Perfect._

“Thank you, Yurio.”

“Stop calling me that stupid, childish name! I'm eighteen already. Dammit.” _Calm down. Calm down._ Yuri tried to slow his breathing, but his pounding heart made that impossible.

“Okay.”

What? No argument? No “I'll stop calling you Yurio when you stop calling me Katsudon”? Shit. Yuuri must be more upset than he was letting on.

“Yuri?”

“What the fuck do you want?” Yuri practically screamed at his phone. God. His heart could not take Yuuri saying his name. His actual name. So casually. He shouldn't have complained about the Yurio name.

“Remember when I almost retired three years ago? When Viktor came back to skating? Well, I didn't keep skating because of Viktor.”

“Okay. Why are you telling me this?”

“It's just—ah, it's hard to explain. Everyone credits my success to Viktor, but I've been wanting this for myself. I want to keep skating until my body can't take it anymore. So, um, what I'm trying to say is, I'm going to be more determined from now on. So...don't get used to winning gold.”

Yuri couldn't stop the smirk from sliding across his face. “What's this? Katsudon is trying to threaten me? How cute. Next season should be interesting. I'll talk to Yakov and have him call you.” He hung up the phone before Yuuri had a chance to reply.

What was that all about? All this time he'd wanted to see Yuuri skate to his fullest. Would he finally get to see it?

Yuri couldn't control his racing heart. Fuck. He thought he was over Yuuri Katsuki. It was a stupid childish crush, anyways. But Yuri wasn't a child anymore...and Yuuri wasn't with Viktor anymore. To make matters worse, Yuuri was staying in St. Petersburg to skate by Yuri's side.

It didn't mean anything. It wasn't like Yuuri decided to keep skating because of him. No, he was just trying to prove to the world that he didn't need Viktor to win. He only asked for Yakov to train him because Yakov was the best coach in the world. It had nothing to do with Yuri Plisetsky.

His chest felt tight and painful. These feelings had never truly gone away. He'd just buried them so deep that he didn't notice the pain anymore, but now they surged up at full strength.

One truth he knew: Yuuri Katsuki would be the death of him.

…

Nerves threatened to keep Yuuri Katsuki under the covers another day, but he forced himself to get out of the uncomfortable hotel bed. Scattered around the room lay the contents of his life with Viktor. The new suitcase Viktor had bought him when his finally fell apart. A dozen stuffed poodle plushies. The brand name clothes Viktor had insisted he needed to own, even if he never wore them. Almost everything he'd kept at Viktor's apartment.

What was missing? The eros costume...and the ring.

Viktor had insisted on keeping the costume since it held memories from his junior days, but the ring had been Yuuri's choice. He had hurled it at Viktor once the older man had told him he didn't love him anymore.

Yuuri tried not to remember the words, but they echoed through his head. _“I kept skating for you, Yuuri, but I can't keep doing this. Competitive skating is killing me. I thought skating with you would make the bad parts go away, but it's just tainted my time with you. I need to be away from skating. Away from you. I'm sorry, Yuuri, but I can't love you anymore.”_

Why hadn't Viktor told him before? All of this could have been avoided if he'd just talked to him. Yuuri wouldn't have asked Viktor to keep skating if he knew he didn't want to. He wasn't that selfish.

But no, that kind of thinking was stupid. The truth was much easier to understand. He had never been good enough for Viktor Nikiforov. Viktor had fallen in love with a version of Yuuri that didn't exist. Drunk. Happy. Outgoing. The real Yuuri had continuously disappointed Viktor from the time he arrived in Hasetsu to offer to be his coach.

Yuuri checked his phone. A mistake. Another news article claimed to have the inside scoop on their breakup. He knew it was all lies. Viktor would never admit why he really broke up with him. At least he was retiring from skating so Yuuri wouldn't have to see him at the rink.

Speaking of the rink, he was supposed to meet with Yakov today. The time on his phone read 16:05. He had less than an hour to get dressed and head over.

Yuuri took a quick shower, then towel-dried his short brown hair. A week ago it had been shoulder-length. For the past two years, Viktor had begged him to keep it long so he could tie it back in a ponytail while he skated. Now that Viktor's opinion didn't matter anymore, he'd gone to the salon and gotten it cut. It was better this way. Long hair was an annoying hassle; short hair immediately made him feel more comfortable.

After dressing in casual sportswear, Yuuri took a taxi to the rink. His glasses kept sliding down his nose, still the same blues ones he'd worn when he met Viktor. He might need a new pair of glasses too. Was it possible to erase your past self?

Once Yuuri arrived at the rink, he ran straight into Yuri Plisetsky. The blond teenager stared at him with hostile eyes. They were the same height now, but Yuri seemed taller and more imposing than he remembered.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Katsudon?”

“I'm meeting with Yakov. Thanks again for talking to him.”

Yuri crossed his arms, a look of disgust on his face. “What did you do to your hair, moron?” His own hair stretched down to his elbows. He had it tied half-back with braids, like some elven prince.

“Cut it. What's the problem?”

Yuri ran slender fingers through his silky, pale hair. “No problem. I'll just have to find another way to tease you.” For the past two years, Yuri had made a habit of tugging on Yuuri's ponytail when he saw him. Another reason Yuuri was glad to have short hair again.

“Okay.”

Yuri gave him a perplexed look, as if he didn't understand the two syllable word. “No comeback, Katsudon? Seriously?”

Yuuri shrugged.

“Viktor really fucked you up, didn't he?”

“It's none of your business,” Yuuri mumbled, then sidled past him. He wasn't in the mood to deal with the aggressive teenager right now. Worries about his meeting with Yakov plagued him. He just needed to get it over with, then he'd feel better.

Yakov wrinkled his nose when Yuuri stepped into his office. “Messy hair. Bags under your eyes. And you look like you've gained weight. Are you serious about coming back to skating?”

“I am,” Yuuri quickly defended. “I'll clean myself up, I promise. Things are just a bit strange now with the breakup and all...”

“It's been two weeks.” Yakov stared at him with critical eyes, then sighed, a softness entering his eyes. “Listen, Katsuki. I've been where you are. And you can be sad all you like, but it'll just hurt you. Take care of yourself. Keep trekking on. Then maybe later once Viktor sees how well you're handling yourself, he'll take you back. That's what happened with me and Lilia.”

“Thank you, sir.” Was it strange that Yuuri didn't want Viktor to take him back? His whole time with Viktor seemed stained now by the knowledge that Viktor was unhappy the whole time. Nothing he did could change the fact that Viktor was better off without him. The least he could do for him was leave him alone.

“Where are you living right now?” Yakov asked.

Cheeks flushed, Yuuri rubbed his arm and shuffled his feet. “I'm just staying at a hotel for now.”

Yakov shook his head, but in an understanding way, rather than judgmental. “You'll move into the skaters' dorms here. I think it will be good for you to be around people. And of course, it will make it easier to get to practices on time.”

…

Yuri Plisetsky understood why Yakov wanted Yuuri to live in the dorms, but why the fuck did Yakov ask _him_ to show Yuuri to his room? Hands jammed into the pockets of his hoodie, he trudged across the lawn to the dormitory, unwilling to look at Yuuri as he followed behind.

“I thought you were living with Yakov and Lilia.”

Yuri snorted. “Haven't you been paying attention? When Yakov and Lilia got back together, they sent me to the dorms. Suits me. I didn't want to be around their disgusting coupleness anyways.”

Silence accompanied them the rest of the way to the three-story dormitory.

The tall wooden doors creaked open onto the sleek foyer. To the outside eye, it would look like the entrance to a museum. Past the second set of doors, though, it was clearly the domain of athletes. Tennis shoe scuff marks lined the floors, and figure skating posters were plastered over every available wall. The corridor stank of sweat, energy drinks, and dirty laundry.

Yuri rounded the corner and walked up to the elevator. He pressed the button and tapped his foot. How much longer would he have to show Yuuri around?

Part of him liked being around him, but the other part screamed that this was dangerous. His heart was already racing like crazy, and his face felt hot. He had undone his braids so his hair hung loose, obscuring most of his face. He hoped it would be enough to hide his true emotions.

“What's taking so long?” Yuri kicked the wall next to the elevator buttons. Gosh, was Mila making out with some random guy in the elevator again?

“We could take the stairs.” With a wave of his hand, Yuuri gestured to the door behind them marked with a picture of stairs.

Groaning, Yuri marched toward the door and yanked it open. He didn't even glance behind to see if Yuuri was following him. The boys' rooms were located on the third floor; girls were on the second. By the time they reached them, Yuuri was out of breath.

“What's wrong, Katsudon? Your old body giving out already?”

Panting, Yuuri had his hands on his knees. He looked up at him, but his gaze was distant and unfocused. Dead inside.

Yuri shivered. Seriously, what had Viktor done to make Yuuri like this?

When Yuuri could breathe easily again, Yuri led the way down the hall. He pointed to the rooms as they passed, first to the right-side ones, then the left. “Otabek's. Lev's. Mine. And this one will be yours.”

He pulled out the key Yakov had given him and unlocked the door for Yuuri. The Japanese man floated in as if in a dream.

Yuri watched him with raised brows. “Are you sure you're all right?” he couldn't help but ask. At first, he worried that Yuuri would tease him for showing concern, but he just shook his head and mumbled.

“What was that?” Yuri asked.

Yuuri met his eyes. “Thanks for your help.”

“Yakov asked me to, so that's why...” He studied him closely as Yuuri looked around the room. His shoulders were tense. Worry clinging to him, tightening the corners of his eyes.

“Who lived here before me?” Yuuri asked.

“Georgi.” The melodramatic skater had retired last season, so the room had been vacant for quite some time.

The tension in Yuuri's shoulders instantly released and he slumped onto the bed. “Good. That's really good.”

With a jolt, Yuri realized what had bothered him. Many years ago, Viktor had lived in these same dorms, but his room had been across the hall, where the newcomer Lev now lived. “I doubt Viktor has ever even been in this room before. He and Georgi were never friends. Hell, he's never even been in my room.”

“That's not—” Yuuri looked flustered, but he sighed and folded his hands together. “Okay, fine. I was thinking about that.”

Yuri set the key on the desk next to the bed. He was about to leave, when sudden inspiration struck him. “Um, Katsudon...”

“Hm?”

“Me and Otabek and Lev were planning to go out for dinner in a bit. Did you want to come?” Yuri couldn't decide whether it was that pathetic lonely look on Yuuri's face, or the way that it was obvious he was still obsessed with Viktor, that made him ask. He wanted to distract Yuuri, to get his mind off his ex and onto new things.

“Thanks for inviting me, but I've got to pick up my stuff and bring it here. Another time.” Yuuri attempted a smile, but it came out more like a grimace.

“Later.” Yuri rushed out of the room, ducking his head to hide his embarrassment. Of course Yuuri wouldn't be ready to socialize yet. He should be giving him some space first, some time to heal on his own.

Dinner that night passed entirely too fast. Lev talked for most of it, sharing his progress with the ice dancer he had a crush on. Yuri just hoped it wouldn't be a repeat of Georgi and Anya. Otabek updated them on how his family was doing. He'd just had his weekly Skype call with them.

Afterwards, Yuri went to Otabek's room to play on his PS3. Since his HDTV was much nicer than the small laptop Yuri usually played games on, he often went to Otabek's for gaming. Though Otabek owned many games, he rarely seemed to want to play. Instead, he would read or just talk to Yuri while he played.

Tonight Yuri couldn't hide his uneasiness. He started yelling at the TV, and ended up rage-quitting his favorite game. He slumped against the sofa, arms crossed. “Fucking game.”

“What's the matter?” Otabek asked, his face filled with concern.

“Nothing. Just, I can't play for shit tonight.”

Otabek set down his book. “I don't think that's the problem. Usually you only rage-quit when you're upset about something.”

“I'm not upset,” Yuri snapped. He hugged his legs and rested his head on his knees. He'd tied his hair up into a bun, but a few loose strands fell across his cheeks.

“Is it because of Yuuri Katsuki?”

Yuri froze, his heart picking up pace again. He'd only ever told Mila about his crush on Yuuri, and she'd sworn to keep it a secret. He didn't think she'd tell Otabek, but what if she had? Or worse, what if Otabek had noticed on his own?

“What does Katsudon have to do with anything?” he replied in his usual bitingtone.

“He's living here now. Right next to you. That bothers you, doesn't it?”

Yuri snorted. Sure it bothered him, but he wasn't about to admit that.

“Look, you're going to have to get used to it, okay?” Otabek said. “The world is changing. You can't just act mean toward people because they're gay.”

Yuri furrowed his eyebrows. “What are you talking about? I don't care that he's gay.”

It was Otabek's turn to look confused. “Huh? But you always called him and Viktor disgusting when they were together.”

“That's because Viktor doesn't get that PDA isn't normal or appropriate. You weren't here when Georgi was dating Anya, but I did the same with them. PDA is just gross, okay?”

Otabek nodded, but he didn't look convinced. “Are you sure you're okay with gay people?”

“Of course I am. It would be weird if a gay person wasn't okay with other gay people.” Yuri shrugged and picked up the game controller again. He had calmed down enough to retry the game.

“Hold on a minute,” Otabek said when he started playing the game.

Yuri paused it. “What?” He couldn't keep the annoyed edge out of his voice.

“Did—did you just say that you're gay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“It's just that...you never...”

“What the fuck, Otabek. You thought I was straight?” Yuri couldn't stifle the giggles. The surprised look on Otabek's face just made it worse. He burst out laughing, holding onto his sides because they hurt so much.

“You never said anything.”

“Well, yeah. Who the hell walks around saying 'Hi, I'm Yuri Plisetsky and I'm as gay as ballet.'? I figured my hair and fashion choices made it obvious enough.” He shrugged.

“But Mila said you dated a girl before.”

“Yeah, when I was fourteen. Didn't go well.” He shivered and met Otabek's eyes. “Never again.”

Otabek gave a nervous laugh. “What's wrong with girls?”

“Just not for me. But if you like girls, it's no big deal. Seriously, doesn't matter to me.”

“I do like girls...and boys.”

Yuri tilted his head. “You're bi?”

“Yeah.”

“That's cool. I think Mila might be bi too, but she won't admit to it.”

“I've never told anyone before.”

Yuri straightened up and took a good look at Otabek. He was hunched over on the couch, as if he had something to be ashamed about. “You do know your family loves you, right? They're not going to disown you or anything.”

“Does your family know? About you, I mean.”

“Yeah. I always talked about the prettiest boys in my classes. And I swear my grandpa can always tell who I have a crush on.”

Yuri thought back to Rostelecom Cup three years ago. All he'd done was tell his grandpa how amazing Japan was and how delicious katsudon was, but his grandpa could always tell. After the free skate, he'd given Yuri another bag of katsudon pirozkhi and told him to “give those to that Japanese boy you like.”

He wondered how his grandpa would react if he knew that he still had feelings for Yuuri. Ugh, he was supposed to be over this years ago.

“I know this is sudden, but...”

Yuri snapped out of his thoughts. “Huh? What were you saying?”

Otabek shook his head. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.” He patted Yuri's shoulder. “You look tired. Why don't you head to bed?”

“Yeah, good idea.” Yuri stood up, muscles still stiff from skating, and stretched his long limbs. It felt as if he'd been sitting on that couch all day. He yawned, said goodnight to Otabek, and headed back to his room.

After a quick shower, he slipped on his tiger pajamas and curled up in bed. Exhaustion pulled at him. He had just enough energy to set his alarm, and then sleep dragged him into its murky depths.

But he didn't stay there. A sound awoke him. He blinked in the dark and listened more closely. It seemed to be coming from the wall behind his head. He pressed his ear up against the wall, and then the sound hit him like a bullet to the heart.

Sobbing. Yuuri was sobbing.

He had half a mind to run next door and hold Yuuri until he calmed down, but he knew he couldn't do that. Yuuri needed to heal on his own. And for that to happen, Yuri needed to keep his own feelings hidden. He wouldn't be Yuuri's rebound to make him forget Viktor. No, he wanted Yuuri to fall in love with him. That could only happen after he got over Viktor.

Yuri had waited three years for Yuuri. A few more months seemed small in comparison. He would wait for Yuuri...even if it took another three years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to @yuriyuu on tumblr for helping with brainstorming through some plot problems, and thanks to @shrapnelthoughts on tumblr for providing feedback and helping name this thing~
> 
> Based on the tumblr prompt by @lucy-shining-star: "Can I ask for a kinda love triangle with Yuuri, Yurio and Otabek?" (partial prompt. full version will be posted at the end of the fic.)
> 
> Originally, this was supposed to be a oneshot, but there was no way I could fit all these ideas into a satisfying oneshot. So behold, my multichaptered fic! I'm guessing it will be around 8-10 chapters, but we'll see how it goes. I've got a lot planned for this one, and I'm excited to get into it~
> 
> Feedback and comments are appreciated. Let me know what you liked or what I can improve upon!


	2. Chapter 2

The sun was too bright, the room too cold. All Yuuri wanted to do was stay in the comfort of his blankets and sleep the whole day. It was how he'd spent the last two weeks, so why should today be any different? He rolled over on the bed and his nose bumped into something solid. The wall?

A wall that shouldn't be there. The bed was in the middle of the hotel room. It should have been—

Yuuri snatched his glasses from beside his pillow and pushed them onto his face. He blinked at the room, faintly lit by traces of light coming through the edges of baby blue curtains against the window. Not a hotel room. The dorm room. His new home.

His heart raced and his breathing came in gasps as he remembered what exactly he'd signed up for. Training with Yakov. That left no room for breaks, no chances to hide and wallow. Exactly what he needed, but that didn't stop the fear, the anxiety, the constant worry that he was just kidding himself. That he would never be as good as Viktor, so why even try?

Yuuri forced himself out of bed. Forced his feet onto the cold floor. Forced the curtains open.

Morning light shone into the room, soft and warm and bright, obliterating the shadows and leaving no space to hide. Yuuri stretched, then walked into the bathroom and took a quick shower. The warm water soothed his body a little, but as he closed his eyes, memories flooded him and he had to force them open again.

Even after he'd dried himself and put on his athletic clothes, he still felt naked, vulnerable, exposed. He was a walking open wound, with the sheerest hint of a scab. One tiny prod and he would bleed all over again. But if he wore a thick enough bandage, maybe no one would notice.

Yuuri pulled out the makeup kit reserved for his performances. He used the undereye concealer and the foundation to hide the fact he'd been crying last night. A little bit of blush to hide how pale and sallow he looked. He didn't bother with mascara or eyeliner—it would just get messed up if he ended up crying again.

Afterwards, he sat down on his bed and focused on taming his unruly hair. Combing his hair was oddly therapeutic. Perhaps because it had been Viktor's job for the past three years. It felt good to have the power again, to paint and portray himself however _he_ wanted, not to fit Viktor's whims.

...

On the walk to the rink, Yuuri tried to keep his mind blank. His worries would get him nowhere—or worse, they would convince him to return to Japan and never look back at figure skating. He wouldn't let that happen, even if it killed him.

“Katsudon, wait up!”

Yuuri walked faster. He definitely wasn't in the mood to deal with the angry Russian skater. Yakov was the only reason Yuri had helped him yesterday. He'd probably given him the whole lecture about being nice to Yuuri because he was emotionally wounded right now. God, that made him sound so pathetic. He _was_ pathetic, he reminded himself.

“Dammit, Katsudon.” Yuri Plisetsky tugged on the strap of Yuuri's bag, forcing him to a halt. He came around to face Yuuri, his long blond hair in a sloppy bun, looking as if he'd just rolled out of bed.

“What is it?” Yuuri asked calmly.

“Aren't you going to eat breakfast? You shouldn't go into practice on an empty stomach.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. That was exactly what he planned on doing. He worried that if he ate anything, he wouldn't be able to hold it down. “I'm not hungry.”

Yuri Plisetsky crossed his arms, looking every bit the Russian punk, albeit the messy bun and sleep-crusted eyes. “If you don't eat, you might pass out on the ice.”

“Your pretend-concern is annoying. Please leave me alone.” Yuuri was on the verge of tears, but he didn't dared show it. He shoved past Yuri, knocking his shoulder into him, and continued down the path.

“You better not be starving yourself!” Yuri called after him. “That's not the way to show Viktor that he hurt you. He's not going to feel guilty if he hears you passed out during practice. He'll just think you're pathetic.”

“Shut up.” Yuuri ran this time, his feet pounding against the ground, his blood rushing in his ears, as Yuri's voice faded into the distance.

When Yuuri reached the doors, he was out of breath. He rubbed his pudgy tummy, ashamed at how much weight he'd gained in two weeks. If Viktor saw him now, he would definitely think he was pathetic.

Once he could breathe again, he went into the rink, changed into his skates, and got on the ice. As if flipping a switch, all the worry and pain disappeared the moment he glided across the ice. Cool air rushed across his cheeks, a gentle caress. He felt as if he could see for the first time in weeks.

“Two weeks,” Yuuri murmured, but his thoughts weren't on the breakup. He just couldn't believe he'd neglected the ice for so long. How irresponsible. He skated with more intensity now, going through his warmup a little too quickly, as if he could make up for the lost time by sheer determination and speed.

His haste made him slip on a simple two-foot turn and he nearly fell on the ice. Great. Lovely start. Another reason why he wanted to get here early when no one would be around to tease him.

“You're so clumsy, Katsudon!”

Yuuri flinched as he turned to see Yuri standing at the edge of the rink. Instead of getting breakfast, he'd come to personally torment him. Even better.

When Yakov and the others arrived, Yuri finally took the ice and made a point to pester Yuuri. He kept trying to correct his posture and get him to “stop leaning over your Goddamn skates or you'll be eating ice for breakfast.”

The day dragged on, practice more a chore than it had ever been before. Yuuri kept getting frustrated and messing up basic things. He lost count of how many times he'd fallen, how many times Yakov had instructed Yuri Plisetsky to “show him how it's done,” and how many times he'd wanted to give up.

It was tiring to be so far behind everyone else. He'd always been told that he only skated so well because of Viktor. Had everyone been right? And he'd just been the fool who thought he could do it alone?

But that couldn't be true. Yuuri had been skating since before he knew Viktor existed. Yuuko and Minako were the ones who fostered his love for skating. He just had to find that innocent, childlike joy for skating that had pushed him to pursue a skating career. It was there somewhere, deep down.

He didn't _need_ Viktor. He had never _needed_ Viktor. The strength to succeed had always been inside him. It had just gotten hidden because he'd spent the last three years relying on Viktor to motivate him, Viktor to cheer him up, Viktor to make him feel worthy. A dependent relationship which now left him feeling like less than a full person.

Less than human.

Yuuri traced his right ring finger absently—the space where the ring had been. For so long he had relied on that connection to give him strength. The promise that someone loved him and believed he could do it.

Maybe that was the toughest thing now. Yuuri felt like no one believed in him. Everyone had expected him to retire after the breakup. But here he was, continuing to fight, and rather than having a team of people encouraging him, he had a team of people who thought he was wasting his time. Because he would never be as good as Viktor Nikiforov, and that was a simple fact.

…

After practice, Yuri sat on the side of the rink untying his skates. It had been a mess of a day, Yakov yelling at Yuuri constantly and asking Yuri to show him how to do things. Yuuri was clearly getting frustrated, but he hadn't gotten upset—not like last night anyhow.

He packed up quickly and headed to the hallway, where Yuuri was standing idly staring at a poster on the wall.

Yuri rushed past him to rip down the poster. He made a show of tearing it into shreds and throwing it in the trash can. “There, that's where he belongs.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri said quietly, his eyes fixed on the trashcan as if he could see the shredded Viktor poster within.

Yuri opened his mouth to say something, but he realized he didn't know what to say. How did you comfort someone going through a serious break up? The only thing he could think to do was distract him. “Hey, Katsudon. We're heading out to lunch. Want to come?”

Yuuri's eyes widened, clearly surprised at the invitation. “Why are you inviting me?”

“Aren't you hungry? You skipped breakfast.”

Yuuri shrugged. “I'll just pick up something at the convenience store.”

“That's it?” Yuri stared at him blankly. The ever-polite Japanese man was turning him down without even a word of apology or a thanks for the invitation?

“That's it,” Yuuri said and walked past him.

Yuri scoffed. What gave him the balls to act like that? After a stressful morning, he expected Yuuri to want to do something relaxing. And what was more relaxing than eating with your friends?

Was he missing something here? Even though he'd known Yuuri for years, he still knew so little about him. Yuuri had only ever opened himself up to Viktor...

A piece of the puzzle clicked into place. If Yuuri had only opened himself to Viktor, then that meant he felt like he had no support here. His rinkmates weren't his friends yet, only people who happened to skate under the same coach.

Yuri was determined to change that.

…

For the next week Yuri was persistent in inviting Yuuri every time they went out for meals, but as expected, Yuuri continued to turn down the invitations. In fact, Yuri started to worry that Yuuri might not be eating at all. In just that week, he'd noticed Yuuri had lost some weight. If it continued, Yuri would have to get Yakov's help on the matter.

As far as skating went, Yuuri was getting better and better each day. Like a muscle that hadn't been used in a while and merely needed to be exercised, he was getting his skating back to his normal level little by little. Yakov was yelling less—a very good thing since his voice had started to get hoarse.

At the end of the week, Yuri returned to the dorm after dinner with his rinkmates. Once again Yuuri had turned down his invitation. He followed Otabek back to his room and collapsed in front of the TV, sprawling across the plush sofa. He grabbed the remote and started flipping through channels on mute.

“Hey, you didn't leave any room for me,” Otabek said with an amused smile.

Yuri moved his feet out of the way so Otabek could sit down, then plopped his feet on top of Otabek's lap. “Any games on tonight?” he asked offhandedly.

“I think rugby might be on tonight.”

Yuri snorted. “Yeah, I'm not watching that.” He flicked through the channels, then settled on the music channel, some concert of a rock band he'd never heard of.

“Why do you keep inviting Katsuki?” Otabek asked after a while.

Yuri answered quickly, trying to sound as casual as possible. He did _not_ want Otabek noticing his feelings. “Because he needs to get out. He can't keep moping around like an idiot.”

“But why do you care?”

“He's my rinkmate. I know we were never really friends, but I look out for my rinkmates. I did the same thing whenever Anya dumped Georgi.” Yuri shrugged, keeping his eyes focused on the TV.

“Seriously?”

Startled, Yuri turned to stare at Otabek. “What? Don't look so surprised. Georgi was fine to hang around, especially once he stopped talking about Anya.”

“Sorry. I just—I thought you only cared about yourself.”

Yuri's jaw dropped. “Wow. You make me sound so selfish. Did I just lose some cool points?”

“No, not at all. Quite the opposite actually. I think it's really cool that you look out for your friends.” Otabek smiled and patted Yuri's foot on his lap.

“Katsudon is _not_ my friend,” Yuri said automatically.

Otabek chuckled. “Rinkmates. Whatever.”

“Anyways, I want him in top shape so that I actually have a challenge this year. With Viktor out of the game, it'll get really boring always winning gold.” Yuri sighed dramatically and readjusted his feet on the sofa.

Otabek blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“What? It's true. Winning all the time gets boring if you don't have to work for it.”

Otabek opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “What makes you think you won't have to work for it?”

“Just that Yuuri's my only real competition right now.”

“You don't think I could win gold?”

“In the Grand Prix series, sure.”

“But not at the final.”

Yuri gave him an apologetic look. “I'm just being realistic. You'll probably get bronze this year, now that Viktor's retired.”

“Why can't I get silver or gold?”

“Because Yuuri and I are both competing. Listen, you might think that now is your chance since Yuuri's performing poorly during practice, but he'll get his act together, I promise. He always does. Then he'll be able to swing silver at least.”

“So what you're saying is, you don't think I'm as good at skating as you are?”

Yuri shrugged. “That's a fact. Nothing to get upset over.”

“We have the same coach, the same choreographer. Our routines are just as difficult.”

“So what?”

“Fuck you.”

Yuri withdrew his feet in surprise, sitting bolt upright. He'd never heard Otabek curse before. “What's the matter?”

“I thought we saw each other as equals. I thought—” Otabek stood up abruptly and pointed to the door. “Get out.”

“What?”

“Out. Now.”

Yuri scrambled up, confused, and went to the door. He tried to think of something to say to Otabek, but anything he thought of just sounded worse. He opened the door, slammed it shut, and went back to his own room.

What the fuck. Otabek was totally overreacting. Did he really think he had a chance at beating Yuuri? He'd been working harder than anyone else, but he just wasn't there yet. He could beat Yuuri's technical score, but his program components score had never been as high. What would be the point in lying to him?

Yuri tried not to think about Otabek as he showered. Otabek was just being moody. He'd talk to him again tomorrow as if nothing happened. But the sinking feeling in his stomach wouldn't go away. They'd never been in a fight before. What if Otabek didn't want to talk to him ever again?

He shut out the thoughts as he closed his eyes, shut out the sad whimpers coming from Yuuri's room, and shut out everyone's problems, including his own. Dreams claimed him as he fell into a deep sleep.

...

The alarm clock blared through the silence. Yuuri put his pillow over his head and fell back into the land of dreams, where nothing hurt him and he could skate like a prodigy.

An hour later, the alarm blasted through his dream, waking Yuuri as he won his fifth World Championship. He patted the bed blindly for his phone, only to come up empty.

He opened his eyes, squinting through the morning light, and glanced around. The phone lay on the floor beside the bed. He reached down for it and turned off the alarm.

Then he noticed the time. Oh crap. He only had fifteen minutes to get to practice.

For a moment Yuuri entertained the idea of staying in bed, of giving up and never looking back. It was so tempting, would be so easy, but it would also make him feel like a loser for the rest of his life. Besides, he didn't want Yakov to yell at him again for being late. He'd had enough of that this week what with all his mistakes.

Reluctantly, he got out of bed and sifted through the clothes on his floor for a pair of exercise pants and a shirt that didn't smell like they'd sat in a sewer for a week. He didn't take the time to comb his hair or brush his teeth, merely slipped on his shoes, slung his bag over his shoulder, and ran out the door.

He made it to practice just in time. A quick glance in the reflective windows showed him that he didn't actually look that bad. He looked more awake than he felt, and his hair looked casually tousled. He realized that he'd forgotten to take off his makeup last night, so the second-day foundation was saving him from looking like a zombie.

No one looked at him twice. From the outside, he looked perfectly in control of his life. He couldn't lie to himself and say he was okay, but for everyone else, he could put on a show. It made him feel even more pathetic. Besides, how long could he keep up this charade?

It was all a silly dream. There was no way he could win the Grand Prix Final. He might not even make it through the Grand Prix series. Then everyone would be talking about his failure. How he couldn't do anything without Viktor.

Was it really better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all? He couldn't even remember where he'd heard the quote, only that it had stuck with him and convinced him to try harder when he felt like giving up. He would try again today—better to fail during practice than competition anyways.

With renewed determination, Yuuri went through the lesson much more easily. His skating was strong, and he landed all his jumps cleanly.

Today they had a double practice, so during lunch he went back to his dorm room to make instant ramen in the microwave. He knew he wasn't eating enough, but he still hadn't returned to his pre-breakup weight. Once he reached that goal, he would start eating regularly again.

Yuuri also took a shower during his break and blowdried his hair. The cleanliness made him feel more put together, like maybe he could do this crazy thing he set out to do. He looked ready for it, able to conquer any problem.

...

He returned to the rink feeling oddly cheerful and had no problem with the warmup exercises Yakov set them to. Then it was time to practice jumps one by one.

Yuuri skated backwards across the rink at Yakov's instruction and prepared to do a triple flip. At the last second, he thought to turn it into a quad. He slammed his toepick into the ice, went up into the air, the world spinning in a blur, and then he lost his footing on the landing.

Yuuri toppled backwards onto the ice, landing flat on his butt. It felt as if his brain moved inside his head, and his whole body shook with the impact. For a moment he couldn't move, could barely breathe. He slid onto his knees, then planted his foot in front of him and stood.

Blinking, he looked around at his rinkmates. Everyone was staring at him. Yuri's mouth hung open wide, as if he were about to yell at him for being an idiot. What kind of loser turns a triple into a quad after only being back on the ice for such a short time?

“You had enough rotations for a quad, but I specifically said to do a triple,” Yakov chided.

“I know,” Yuuri said, still not sure why he had attempted the quad himself.

“If you're going to train under me, you have to listen to what I say. You could have gotten seriously hurt.”

Yuuri drowned out the words as Yakov continued to berate him for irresponsible behavior. He felt as if his mind had gone all fuzzy, like his world had been shaken and hadn't quite righted itself yet. An uneasy feeling swirled in the pit of his stomach.

Why had he attempted the quad? Not just a quad. A quad flip. Viktor's signature move.

The world wobbled, the ice blurring beneath his feet. He needed to get off the rink. Now. “I need to take a break,” he told Yakov.

“No. I'm not Viktor. You don't get to take breaks whenever you want.”

“I need a fucking break!” Yuuri yelled.

“Katsuki, watch your language. You need to show me respect.”

“I don't need to show you anything. I'm done.” Yuuri skated over to the side of the rink. An awful silence followed him before he heard a pair of skates marching across the ice behind him. He didn't look back to see who was following him.

When he reached the sidelines, he slung his bag over his shoulder and hooked his shoes on his fingers. Without a glance behind, he pushed through the door with such force that it slammed into the wall, the crash echoing through the silent rink.

Once out in the hallway, he collapsed against the wall and furiously pulled at the laces of his skates, barely able to see them through his tears. And to make matters worse, he'd forgotten his glasses on the bench inside. No way was he going back for them.

The base of his spine hurt like hell, but he didn't let the pain bother him. A minor discomfort in his shattering world.

“What the fuck's wrong with you?”

“Of course it would be you,” Yuurigrumbled. He slid the skate guards onto his skates, then tossed them into his bag. He took his time pulling on his shoes and tying the laces before he glanced up at Yuri Plisetsky. “You're going to ruin your blades if you stand in the hallway like that.”

Yuri unlaced his skates at record speed and set them against the wall, then crossed his arms. “So, are you going to tell me what's wrong with you?”

“I'm a screw-up. Nothing new.” Yuuri stood and headed towards the door. A hand grasped his arm, and he whirled to face Yuri. “Leave me alone,” he said between gritted teeth.

“You're not a screw-up,” Yuri said. “You just screwed up. There's adifference.”

“No, there's not. Stop pretending like you care.” Yuuri yanked free and pushed through the doors, out into the chilly evening.

Barefoot, Yuri followed him into the cold. “I'm not pretending. Please, come back inside. At least to apologize to Yakov. You can start again tomorrow if you don't feel up to it today.”

Yuuri silenced him with a glare. “Don't you get it? I'm not going back.” Thoughts were rushing through his head, and no matter what he did he couldn't calm himself. Everyone was right. He would never be as good as Viktor so why was he still trying? What did he hope to accomplish? Even if he could get a medal without Viktor, it would be meaningless. He'd lost his love for skating when Viktor had shattered his fragile glass heart.

“Who's going to be your coach then?” Yuri demanded, putting his hands on his hips.

“I don't need a coach.”

A breeze whipped Yuri's hair across his face, and he yanked it back into a messy bun. “But you can't compete without one.”

“Now you're getting it. I won't be competing any longer.” Yuuri put his hands in his pockets and fixed the younger man with one final glare. “I'm going back to Japan.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait on this chapter. Just like the last once, it was a struggle to write. Still, I'm surprisingly very happy with this chapter. I wanted more drama and I'm glad to have delivered on that. Thanks again to @shrapnelthoughts and @yuriyuu on tumblr for helping me with plot problems.
> 
> Please let me know what you think of it and if you spot any mistakes. Thank you again for your support!


	3. Chapter 3

When Yuri Plisetsky returned to the dorms after practice that fateful night, he found Yuuri Katsuki's room completely empty, the key placed on top of the desk. There was no note, no evidence that he'd ever been there at all. Only emptiness.

He stood in the doorway, searching every corner of the room for something—anything. But there was nothing.

Yuuri had vanished into the night, as if he'd been a mere illusion.

Pain shot through his knuckles as Yuri pounded his fist against the wall. What was he doing? Yuuri was probably already at the airport, maybe on the plane already.

He could take a taxi to the airport and try to stop him, but Yuri couldn't move his legs. Every part of him felt numb. The whole world seemed to be wobbling around him—distant, fading, like a mirage in a desert.

He sunk to his knees and buried his face in his hands. Tears slid through the gaps in his fingers, the feeling all too familiar. The same thing had happened three years ago after he'd performed his free skate at the Grand Prix Final. He hadn't been able to stop the tears—too worried that his skating wasn't enough, that Yuuri would retire anyways.

And here it was happening all over again. Except this time Yuuri was retiring. For real.

He felt the painful stab of betrayal. He'd believed in Yuuri, trusted that he would keep fighting now that Viktor had left. Yuuri was strong, invincible.

How wrong he'd been. But that was Yuri's own fault. He'd lifted Yuuri to unrealistic expectations, thinking of him as some skating hero, but he was just human like anyone else. It was unfair of Yuri to expect so much, he knew.

As if in a daze, Yuri picked himself up, locked Yuuri's door with the key from atop the desk, and floated towards his own room. His gaze drifted across the hall, and he focused on Otabek's short but sturdy form. The world suddenly made sense again.

“Otabek, I need to talk to you,” Yuri said, stepping towards him. This was it. He would tell Otabek everything about his situation with Yuuri—even his stupid crush. Otabek might not be able to offer advice, but at least talking about it would make Yuri feel better.

For a long moment, Otabek stared at him without speaking. His hand was frozen on his doorknob. “I don't think I can talk to you yet,” he said without a trace of emotion.

“What?” Yuri said, completely taken aback. It took him a moment to remember the night before. When Otabek had kicked him out of his room. Now that he thought about it, Otabek had been ignoring him all day at practice too. He'd just been too distracted by Yuuri to notice.

“Do you remember what you said to me yesterday?” Otabek stared at his feet, as if he couldn't bear to look at him.

“Look, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to make you feel bad. I was just—”

“Telling the truth,” Otabek finished for him.

“Well, yeah.” Yuri dug his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “But it's nothing to get upset about. Not everyone can win gold.”

Otabek's knuckles tightened around the doorknob. He pinched his eyebrows together, still refusing to look at Yuri. His whole body shook as if it were taking all his self control not to punch Yuri in the face. Yuri wanted him to get mad, to yell at him, to hit him, or something. At least it would be a response. The silence was worse than any physical pain.

Finally Otabek spoke, in a calm, almost sad voice. “Your honesty used to be my favorite thing about you, but...I never realized how much it could hurt.”

Then he turned the doorknob and disappeared into his room before Yuri could say another word.

Yuri banged on the door and called his name, but Otabek didn't answer. “Dammit.” He slid against the door into a sitting position, tucked his arms around his legs, and leaned his head on his knees. Gentle tears trickled down his face, soaking the dark fabric of his leggings.

First, Yuuri ran away from him. Now, Otabek wouldn't even talk to him. Yuri sighed, feeling like a piece of shit. Everything that mattered to him was crumbling apart before his very eyes.

He wasn't even sure what he'd done wrong. Was he supposed to have lied to Otabek? Friends shouldn't lie to each other. That would've been stupid and pointless, and it wouldn't have benefited Otabek at all. Now that he knew where he stood in the rankings, maybe that would encourage him to try harder. He wanted to see Otabek skate to his fullest potential, so even though he hated that they were fighting, he didn't regret what he said to him.

He'd say it again and again until Otabek started taking this seriously.

But for now, Yuri felt like he'd lost everything. Well, almost everything. He still had skating. Or rather, the only thing he had left was skating, and that would be what saved him.

…

The next few days passed in a blur. Yuri felt as if he were just going through the motions. Even his skating suffered. Jumps he had landed consistently in the past became dangerous territory. More and more bruises accumulated on his body, and he spend every hour away from the ice on his bed, either watching TV, playing video games, or fiddling with his phone.

Sometimes he forgot to eat for hours, and he'd left his hair in a bun that soon became a knotted mess. He often felt too worn out to shower after practice, even though the warm water would soothe his aching muscles. And it wasn't just that he was working himself too hard—he was filled with worry about Yuuri's absence and his precarious friendship with Otabek.

Though Yuuri had returned to Japan, he hadn't gone to Hasetsu Ice Castle yet. Yuuko said she hadn't seen him at all—or even heard from him. Was he shutting himself out from skating entirely? If he gave up skating for good, Yuri didn't know what he'd do. Skating felt empty without him.

Was this how Yuuri felt when Viktor left him? No, Yuri was sure that was a thousand times worse. Little by little, he was understanding why Yuuri went back to Japan, why he couldn't bring himself to care anymore. It just hurt so damn much all the time. The never-ending pain was slowly eating away at him, making him feel less and less like himself.

If Otabek had been talking to him, Yuri wouldn't have been so shaken like this. But without that normalcy in his life, that constant reassuring presence of his best friend, he felt more alone than ever. Even Mila didn't have time for him because of all the dates she had. Since when had he relied on others this much?

Yuri hated how weak he'd become. And to make matters worse, he knew this was all his doing. If he'd just swallowed his pride and told Yuuri that he legitimately wanted to be his friend, Yuuri might have stayed.

…

At the end of the week, Yuri skipped dinner with his rinkmates. It had been awkward lately, what with Otabek talking to everyone but him. He was better off alone anyways.

Yuri paced in his room, not sure what to do. He didn't feel like playing video games or watching anything on his tiny TV. (God, he missed Otabek's huge flat screen.)

A glance in the mirror filled Yuri with frustration. His hair looked like Tinkerbell had been stranded on a deserted island. Had he really been going around with it like this all week?

He grabbed a comb and his detangler spray and sat down in front of the mirror beside his door. Furiously, he worked through the slow task of taming his hair. It was so long now—like Viktor's hair from his junior days. Initially, he'd grown it out to keep up the androgynous image, but now he just thought it looked cool. If only it wasn't such a hassle.

But at least it was his. He could do with it what he wanted. Braids. Ponytails. Buns. Whatever he felt like on any given day. It was one of the few things in his life he'd always had absolute control over. That and his clothes. So he still wore cheetah print and wild cat-themed shirts whenever he could.

All the things he didn't have control over anymore revolved around skating. He had to follow a strict diet, work out in the fitness room downstairs, skate the programs that Yakov and Lilia choreographed. Even his skating costumes had to be approved by Yakov first.

It was so limiting, so constricting. He imagined this was how a woman in a corset must feel—like she couldn't even breathe because she had to look and act a certain way. So suffocating.

Yuri missed the days when he could skate for fun. He still enjoyed skating, still enjoyed the feel of the cool air rushing past him, of his body moving across the ice in a dance. That love never went away. But there were days when those feelings became clouded by frustration, days when he felt trapped.

He wanted to skate without Yakov watching, to choreograph his own programs, to play the part his way and not anyone else's.

Yuri had barely registered his fingers moving through his hair, and now looked up to see that he'd braided the sides of his hair and pulled it back into a ponytail, just like his free skate during the Grand Prix Final his senior debut. He wrapped the long ponytail around and secured it in a bun with a few bobby pins.

Oddly enough, he liked it best when his hair was pulled back, when he could show his face. It forced him not to hide or run away. He had to face everything head on. That was how he became stronger.

His heart thrummed in his chest, the blood pounding in his veins. He walked over to the water bottle on his desk, hoping a drink would calm him, but he stopped short as he saw the pair of glasses sitting on the edge. Yuuri's glasses. He'd left them on a bench at the rink, and Yuri had brought them back to the dorms for him. But of course Yuuri had disappeared by then.

He traced the blue rim of the glasses—smooth and cold as if it still held a piece of the ice. Memories flashed through his mind. Over the last few years, all the competitions with Yuuri, even the ones without him, how he'd had this drive to succeed. He hadn't felt as constricted because he was working so hard to become better. Skating with Yuuri had been fun, a challenge which he met eagerly. And now that Yuuri was gone, it felt like all the fun had been sapped away.

So that was it, wasn't it? Why Yuri had been in a slump all week. He hadn't started to enjoy competitions until Yuuri came along. But just because he couldn't skate against Yuuri anymore, didn't mean he had to give up those feelings. He could still skate _for_ Yuuri.

Not to make him come back or anything—he wasn't that naive. Just to remind Yuuri what he loved about skating. Viktor wasn't the only thing that made Yuuri love skating. In fact, Yuri was positive that he had loved skating long before Viktor, for he himself had been in love with skating long before Yuuri.

After everything Yuuri had been through, he didn't need to prove himself to anyone. But he did need to remember his love for skating. Yuri would make him remember, while also reminding himself.

He grabbed his skating bag and the keys to the rink, a new determination taking over him. He couldn't wait a second later. He had to skate.

...

The hallways in the rink were dark. Yuri never turned on those lights when he went at night because you could see them from the dorms. Right now he especially didn't want Otabek to realize that he was here practicing. He needed this time on the ice alone, so he could skate out his feelings without any interruptions.

Yuri walked into the rink and set down his bag. He stretched his arms wide, then jumped about a foot in the air. Classical music was playing from the speakers. Did Yakov forget to turn it off?

He went to go investigate, but froze as another sound caught his attention. The scritch of skates against the ice. This time he looked at the dimly-lit rink.

And stopped breathing.

Yuuri Katsuki was on the ice, skating more beautifully than he had during his time under Yakov. Confused, Yuri walked closer to the rink to make sure he wasn't just imagining it.

No, it was definitely Yuuri, but he wasn't wearing his glasses. (Of course he wasn't wearing them. They were still sitting on Yuri's desk.) So Yuuri hadn't gone back to Japan after all...

How had he even gotten inside the rink? Yakov only gave the keys to a select few. Right now that was just him, Otabek, and Mila.

These worries faded to the back of his mind as he watched Yuuri skate, entranced. This didn't look like the skating of someone who had given up. This looked like the skating of the hero Yuri had always believed him to be.

Yuuri lifted his leg behind his head, gliding across the ice on one foot. It was one of Yuri's favorite moves which he tried to incorporate into all of his programs. He was surprised to see Yuuri do it here, so flawlessly. Imitation was the best form of flattery, wasn't it? Yuri's heart raced at the thought, hope gripping him tightly, and he let out the breath he'd been holding.

Yuri watched him glide forward across the ice, then do a three turn. A moment later Yuuri was ramming his toepick into the ice and jumping into the air. Yuri counted the revolutions. A triple? No, a quad!

A quad flip.

His heart sunk, and he laughed to himself bitterly. Of course. Yuuri was only thinking about Viktor, even after everything that had happened.

Yuri turned to leave. He just wanted to go back to his room, bury himself in sheets and blankets, and forget all about this night. A step from the door he looked back and his eyes locked with Yuuri Katsuki. Damn.

From this distance, Yuuri probably couldn't tell who he was. There was still time to make a run for it. But as much as he wanted to run away, he had too many questions—like why hadn't Yuuri gone back to Japan? What was he doing here by himself at night?

Yuuri skated to the side of the rink and pushed a pair of black-rimmed square glasses onto his face, then skated towards the sidelines. “Hi,” he said as he stepped from the ice onto the rubber mats.

Several questions flashed through Yuri's mind, so he picked one at random. “You broke into the rink?” Wrong question. Holy shit. Did he have to say it so accusingly?

Yuuri's face flushed. “Not technically. I've been sneaking in during your evening practices and leaving out the bathroom window when I'm done.”

“So you _snuck_ into the rink?” Yuri said, his voice rising in disbelief. Yuuri Katsuki had clearly lost it.

“It was stupid, I know. But you don't understand how skating is for me. It, like, it calms me down, and sometimes I just need to skate. Back in Hasetsu, Yuuko would let me use the rink whenever I wanted. And when Viktor was my coach here, he'd let me borrow his key to get in. I just _need_ to skate.”

Yuri did understand. Skating was the same for him. An escape and a solace, a way to forget and just lose himself to the feelings. And just like Yuuri, the need to skate had filled every corner of his body tonight. “I understand that part, idiot. But why didn't you go back to Japan?”

Yuuri rubbed at his arm. “I couldn't. I...I guess I just needed a break.”

“A break? Are you fucking kidding me? You disappear for an entire week without telling anyone, and you call that a break? Isn't that just running away?”

Yuuri winced, looking ashamed of himself, but he didn't back down. “At first I tried to run away. I moved back into the hotel, to get a little distance. But I couldn't even go one day without skating. All week I've been coming here to practice at night.”

“Why didn't you just call Yakov...or me?”

Surprise was evident on Yuuri's face. Clearly he'd been expecting more reprimands from him. Yuri was in fact very angry, but only because Yuuri had kept this a secret. If Yuuri had just told him that he needed a break from lessons with Yakov, he wouldn't have had to go through all that misery.

“I couldn't muster the courage to face Yakov, and uh, I didn't think you'd want me to come back,” Yuuri said, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket.

“Of course I wanted you to come back!” Yuri shouted, unable to suppress his anger. “You don't just say you're going to prove yourself to the world and then disappear.”

Yuuri sighed. “I know. Moments after I left, I wanted to come back, but I started worrying about what everyone else would think of me and how they'd look at me after I stormed out like that.”

“You shouldn't worry about that. Just do what you need to do.” That had been Yuri's motto for many years. Ever since he'd moved away from home at age ten, he'd had to take care of himself. There was no point in obsessing over what people thought of him. Anyways, he could _always_ prove them wrong.

“Are you going to tell Yakov I've been sneaking in?”

“Of course not,” Yuri snapped.

Yuuri scrunched his eyebrows together. “I don't understand. Why are you being nice to me?”

This was his chance to finally explain that he wanted to be Yuuri's friend, but the words got caught in his throat. Silently he walked over to his bag and pulled out his skates. He started lacing them up around his feet, using the familiar motion to calm himself down.

Yuuri took the seat beside him. “I've always admired you, you know.”

“What?” Yuri glanced at him, eyes wide. This couldn't be happening. He wished he'd worn his hair down so he could hide his face. He felt the burn of a fierce blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Your skating is extraordinary. And you have so much confidence. No anxiety weighing you down. I wish I could be like that. Maybe then this wouldn't be so hard for me.”

Oh. It wasn't what Yuri was expecting, but it was stupid of him to expect anything in the first place. After the wave of disappointment passed, he thought about the words. Confident? Him? Maybe. But he had plenty of anxiety. He'd just proved that this past week, with how he couldn't stop worrying about Yuuri to the point that he forgot to take care of himself. “Do you know me at all? I've got a crap ton of anxiety.”

Yuuri blinked. “But you're always so calm and focused.”

“My anxiety is different from yours.” Yuri rubbed his neck and stared at his skates. If he looked at Yuuri, he wouldn't be able to say the words. Scared as he was, he wanted to open up to Yuuri—at least a little bit. “I don't worry about what people think or how I'll fail them. I worry about failing myself, not skating to my full potential, wasting my time as a young athlete. I want my skating career to last as long as possible, but in order to win, I keep pushing myself and I'm terrified that one day I'll just break.” He surprised himself by how easily the words poured out. He hadn't shared these thoughts with anyone, not even his grandpa.

“I understand,” Yuuri said. “I get those too. They're definitely hard to deal with. You're trying to skate this difficult piece, but if you doubt yourself for a second, you're guaranteed to mess up.”

The words reassured Yuri and made him feel less alone. He wanted Yuuri in his life, and this was one small step in that journey. “I don't mind falling, though,” Yuri said. “As long as I can get back up again.”

“You say some incredible things sometimes.” Yuuri smiled. “That's how I've been feeling lately. I fell down, and it sucked, but you were right the other day. I screwed up, but that doesn't make me a screw up. That same night I left, I decided not to give up. I may not be able to win gold without Viktor, but I'm still going to try, even if the whole world believes I can't do it.”

Yuri punched him in the shoulder. “Do you seriously think that no one believes in you? Um, in case you forgot, you won gold against Viktor at Worlds this year. Everyone already thinks you've surpassed him. Haven't you read any of the articles? You're currently the best figure skater in the world.”

“You're just saying that to cheer me up.”

“I'm not!” Yuri pulled out his phone and went to his bookmarks, then opened a few articles on Yuuri Katsuki (he had dozens saved, but he didn't want Yuuri to know that). He tossed the phone onto Yuuri's lap.

Yuuri scrolled through the articles, his eyes getting wider and wider. He handed the phone back and folded his hands together. Yuri waited for his great smile or some indication that he felt better, but Yuuri started crying.

Oh God. Yuri did not know what to do. Was showing him the articles a bad move? That should've cheered anyone up, so why didn't it work on Yuuri? “What the hell? That was supposed to cheer you up, moron.”

“But I've let everyone down,” Yuuri said, trying to wipe away the tears, but they just kept coming. “No one expected me to retire after the breakup, and there I was considering it. I'm such a failure.”

Yuri pulled his hands away from his face, gripping them gently, and waited until Yuuri was looking at him to speak. “You are _not_ a failure, Yuuri Katsuki. You're human like everyone else. It's your choice whether you keep skating or not. Your fans will understand. You won't be letting anybody down, okay?” _Except me_ , he thought. _But I'll get over it._

“I think that's the first time.”

“What?”

“That you called me by my name.”

“Oh.” Yuri let go of Yuuri's hands and huddled into himself, embarrassed. He hoped to God that his cheeks weren't turning red. This wasn't the time to get into crush territory. And why the fuck had he held Yuuri's hands?

“You're hard to understand,” Yuuri admitted. “To be honest, I've always thought you hated me.”

“I never...” Yuri couldn't finish the sentence. Once again the words “I never hated you” got caught in his throat. Why couldn't he just express himself like a normal person? Was it because he liked Yuuri? Was that why he turned into such a blundering blockhead around him?

“I think I understand now. You're just not very good at showing your feelings. That's okay. I'll work harder at reading them.”

His heart was racing. He knew Yuuri hadn't caught on to the depth of his feelings, but it still felt strange for Yuuri to see past his shield. “I do want you to hang out with us,” he mumbled. “Don't stay by yourself anymore.”

Yuuri nodded and smiled. “Okay, then I will.”

“Good.” Even if he never knew what to say, he'd be glad to distract Yuuri from his post-breakup feelings. Dinner with their rinkmates would be good for both him and Yuuri. And maybe, just maybe it would strengthen their newfound friendship.

Yuuri stood and stretched his arms wide. “Come on. Let's get to practicing.”

...

As Yuri worked on his skating, he kept glancing over at Yuuri, stunned by his improvement. His movements were graceful and beautiful—oddly reminiscent of Yuri's _Agape_ routine from a few years ago. His spins had always been a strong point, but tonight they seemed faster than before, more fluid. He landed two quads cleanly and fell on his triple axel, but he got up again and skated on, almost as if the fall were part of the routine.

Had Yuuri just started to work on the routine this week? It could use another quad maybe, but it seemed like a pretty solid short program. As the music switched to the next song, Yuuri skated towards him.

“Hey, are you done practicing?” Yuuri asked.

Yuri realized he was frozen in awe. He snapped out of it quickly. “What? No. I was just watching you skate. Is that your new short program?”

Yuuri blinked, tilting his head to the side. “Oh, just now? No. That was just me messing around.”

“You improvised that?” Yuri rubbed his jaw, astounded. How did Yuuri Katsuki not realize what a genius he was?

“Yeah. I think I'd like my next routine to go something like that, but I don't know if I'd be able to win with my own choreography.”

“What is with you? Why don't you think you can win?”

Yuuri shrugged. “I'm determined to prove that I can win gold without Viktor, but I've never really believed in myself. When Viktor was my coach, I felt more confident because he believed in me. He even predicted that I would surpass him one day. But now, I don't have anyone telling me I can do it.”

“You can do it,” Yuri said, the words coming out automatically. It felt like a really cheesy thing to say—Yuuri looked absolutely stunned—but it also felt like the right thing to say. The only right thing to say.

“Thank you, Yuri. That means a lot to me.” As if he'd cast a magic spell, Yuuri's whole demeanor changed, a bright smile lighting his face, his sharp brown eyes shimmering behind his new glasses. Once again he looked like the top figure skater in the world—the Yuuri Katsuki that had captured the hearts of so many fans.

And then something clicked in Yuri's mind. Unlike himself, Yuuri drew his confidence from other people. Only when other people believed in him could he believe in himself. In Yuri's case, he became more determined when people doubted him, because then he had something to prove. It was what had allowed him to grow so much as a skater all these years.

But Yuuri was different...

And so was Otabek.

Oh God. Yuri clamped a hand to his mouth as his stomach twisted. What he'd said to Otabek was the worst thing he could have said. Whether Otabek had the ability to win or not, his best friend telling him he couldn't would only kill his determination.

Yuri didn't want that. He admired Otabek's skating and believed he would only get better and better. Just because he wasn't there yet, didn't mean he would never be. But he'd made it sound like he didn't believe in Otabek at all.

“I have to go,” Yuri said, skating to the edge of the rink. “Come to practice tomorrow. Please. I'll even help you talk to Yakov.”

“Okay, I'll be there,” Yuuri called behind him.

Yuri was already on the side, unlacing his skates and slipping on the skate guards. Then he hiked up his bag, slipped on his shoes, and exited the rink.

As he ran back to the dorms, Yuri tried to think of what to say to Otabek. How could he explain that he believed in Otabek without making it sound like he was just trying to get on his good side again?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here! I am so sorry about the long wait on this chapter. Over two weeks. Yikes. I hurt my hand, so there was an entire week where I couldn't type on my computer. And then when I got to it, I struggled with this chapter (the struggle--such an ongoing theme). A special thanks to @yuriyuu on tumblr for helping me work out a couple wrinkles.
> 
> Please keep commenting and letting me know how you like the story. I've really enjoyed reading the responses so far and replying to them. The next chapter might introduce Otabek's viewpoint. We'll see if that works out or not~


	4. Chapter 4

Yuri pounded his fist on the door to Otabek's room. “Open up!” He knew Otabek was in there. He'd texted Mila on the dash back from the rink, and she'd said they had returned to the dorms an hour ago. He gritted his teeth and kicked the door, the loud sound oddly satisfying.

“Stop,” came Otabek's muffled voice.

Yuri's hand trailed down the cold wood, the fight extinguished from him with a slow exhale. “Please just let me talk to you. I have something important to say.”

The door did not open, but Otabek replied. “Then say it.”

Yuri wished they could talk face-to-face, but at least Otabek was listening to him now. He chose his words carefully. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said you weren't real competition. You don't get it. I _do_ believe in you. It's just that you haven't skated as well during competitions—stage fright or something.”

“I don't have stage fright!”

Yuri jumped and recoiled his outstretched hand. His heart pounded in his chest, the same fear returning to him. The fear that Otabek would never forgive him. He rubbed his hands together nervously and forced himself to continue. “Whatever you want to call it. Anyways, I really do want to see you win gold one day. You're Otabek _Altin_. It's in your name. You just need to believe in yourself—”

“YOU. DON'T. GET. IT!” Otabek yelled.

Exasperated, Yuri yelled back, “What don't I get?”

“This isn't about whether I'll win gold or not. It's about you—what you believe—what... Never mind. Just leave me alone.”

About him? What he believed? Yuri's heart raced as he tried to think of what he could mean. He believed in winning, in skating his best, but Otabek made it sound like it had nothing to do with skating. And what if it didn't?

What else could be bothering Otabek?

Then it hit him. A few weeks ago when he'd come out to Otabek, he had been completely shocked. Yuri hadn't thought anything of it, especially since Otabek said he himself was bi, but what if that was just a lie? He could have said that to hide his own discomfort. After all, how awkward would it have been to say something outright?

He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking. “Dammit, Otabek! Is this because I told you that—”

A thud sounded behind him. He whirled around and his gaze landed on Yuuri Katsuki, who stood there looking stunned. Great. Just great.

“You fucking asshole!” he yelled and gave the door a final kick. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This couldn't be happening. Of all the things Otabek could judge him for, he had never expected this.

He turned a harsh glare on Yuuri. “Don't give me that stupid look.” Fuming, Yuri headed for his room and fumbled with his key—his hands were still shaky. With an inordinate amount of effort, he finally unlocked his door and slammed it behind him, the sound almost loud enough to drown out his tumultuous feelings.

He buried his face in his hands, suppressing a scream, as his whole body trembled. Otabek didn't want to be his friend anymore. Because he was gay. It wasn't a simple misunderstanding that he could apologize for. This was an inextricable part of who he was. If Otabek couldn't accept him, then he really would lose his friendship.

“Fuck...” Yuri collapsed atop his bed and put his arm over his forehead to dull the pounding headache.

Would Otabek ignore him forever? Would he move back to Kazakhstan just to get away from him? He couldn't imagine what it would be like not to have his best friend around. Otabek had always been there to support him, even when he'd lived far away.

What an awful night. He'd finally gotten Yuuri back...only to be crushed by Otabek's absence. Would he ever be happy?

A gentle knock sounded at the door. Yuri sprang up from the bed and was halfway to the door when a voice came from the other side.

“Are you okay?”

Yuri froze. Disappointment swirled in his stomach. It was Yuuri, not Otabek. The feeling only lasted for a moment before an urgent need filled his chest. A need for comfort. But as much as he wanted to be comforted, he knew he couldn't handle Yuuri right now. Knew he would want more...more than Yuuri was willing to give.

So he went back to his bed, put his headphones in, and blasted angsty music while he tried to forget the world.

…

Yuuri didn't like being ignored, but he knew that people needed their space; some time alone to think and sort things out. He wasn't quite sure what he had walked into, but from what he could tell, Otabek was ignoring Yuri for some reason.

It was probably just as well that Yuuri didn't talk to him. He didn't have any good advice since he'd never been in a fight with a friend himself. He hoped Otabek would come around. Yuri had always seemed stronger with him by his side, a powerful friendship that would hurt Yuri and his skating career if he were to lose it.

Besides, Yuuri had his own problems to worry about. He'd decided to move back into the dorms, but he couldn't exactly ask for the key to his room right now, even though that was the whole reason he'd followed Yuri into the dorms. That meant he would need to return to the hotel and confront Yakov in the morning.

Yuuri took out his phone, dialed the taxi, and headed downstairs to wait for it.

Memories danced through Yuuri's mind on the ride home. The many party invitations he and Viktor had received. How Viktor turned them down, so they could have a date night instead. So many times it was just the two of them. Even Chris never came to visit. Yuuri had thought that he and Viktor were close—in fact, he was the only person who seemed close to Viktor—but he realized maybe that had been his imagination too. Viktor always appeared like the social butterfly, but in reality, he was a very solitary man.

When Yuuri had come into his life, their world shrank to the two of them. It seemed romantic at first, wonderful to share so many inside jokes, to live together, to share their lives with one another. But now he saw that Viktor had been waiting the whole time for the confident, fearless Yuuri he'd seen their first Grand Prix Final banquet, when Yuuri had gotten so drunk that he'd challenged both Yuri and Viktor to a dance-off. He still didn't remember it himself, but from the pictures, he could tell he had come across extroverted and playful. That was the man Viktor had fallen in love with...

Had Viktor ever looked at the real him?

When Yuuri reached his hotel room, it felt as if all the energy had been sucked out of him. He collapsed onto his bed, just barely remembering to set his alarm.

…

Yuuri felt like crap as he walked into the rink early the next morning with his disheveled hair and wrinkled track suit.

He'd had the most terrifying dream of still being in a happy relationship with Viktor Nikiforov and had woken, arms wrapped around his pillow, feeling absolutely blissful. Until reality hit him like an eighteen-wheeler.

Steeling himself, he knocked on the door of Yakov's office. A grumbled “come in” sounded from within. Yuuri twisted the knob and walked into the office.

Yakov didn't seem surprised to see him, but he didn't look happy either. “Here to fill out your resignation papers?” He picked up a folder and tossed it to the edge of the desk.

“No, actually,” Yuuri said, trying to rekindle the confidence he had felt last night, “I want to stay here.”

“You mean come back?” Yakov looked incredulous, as if the possibility of Yuuri's return had never occurred to him. “First you storm out of my practice. Then you disappear for a week. I don't know what's gotten into you, but I think as long as Viktor stays away from you, you won't be able to skate.”

“That's not true!” Yuuri shouted, anger boiling beneath his skin. He suddenly felt ashamed of his blissful dream—how he'd let himself be fooled again by Viktor's false smiles. How he'd never seen the pain he caused behind those bright eyes. He wasn't sure who to blame anymore—Viktor or himself—but he knew that wallowing in his own failures would only cause more suffering.

Getting back to skating was what would heal him. He had the determination and the physical stamina for it; he just needed the mental strength.

“I'm sorry for yelling,” he said, then straightened up and imbued as much determination into his voice as he could muster. “I am serious about continuing skating. I didn't win the World Championship because Viktor was my coach. Surely you as a coach understand that not just any student could do that. Besides, even if Viktor did get me to gold, you're a much better coach than him. Imagine what you can do with me as your student. I'm twenty-six, but I've still got plenty of strength left in me. If you won't coach me, I'll go back to Celestino. But I want you to coach me. I want to have rinkmates that I can form friendships with. I like St. Petersburg. I've become so familiar with this city that I can't think of myself anywhere else. Please, Yakov, let me continue to skate with your guidance.”

During Yuuri's speech, Yakov's frown had only deepened. He crossed his arms and let out a long sigh. “It's a pity that you never had this determination when you were dating Viktor. It's almost as if...no, never mind. Forget I said anything.”

_It's almost as if he was discouraging you on purpose._ Was that what Yakov meant to say? Yuuri had never considered that before, and even though he wanted to think of Viktor as the villain, he just couldn't. If Viktor had affected his determination, it was because he was too absorbed in himself to properly motivate Yuuri. Or maybe his own negative feelings had rubbed off on Yuuri somehow. At Worlds, Yuuri had only been so determined to win because Yuri Plisetsky had just beaten his free skate record at the EuroCup.

“So, you won't run off again?” Yakov asked.

“I promise I won't.”

Yakov looked him up and down, then nodded slowly. “I'll let you back on one condition.”

…

Yuri Plisetsky sat on his bed in the dorms, delaying his walk to the rink as long as possible. He'd already packed up his skate bag and eaten a granola bar, even managed to fasten his hair in a side braid. But he still couldn't bring himself to leave his room.

He was terrified of encountering Otabek again. Of seeing the look in his eyes. The rejection. Yuri was gay, and Otabek didn't want to be his friend. To think their friendship would be crushed by something like this. He'd never hated himself before for being gay—but he felt a deep shame now and wished he could undo who he was.

Maybe he was a bad person after all. Maybe he was disgusting. Maybe he didn't deserve to walk on this earth, to be friends with the hero of Kazakhstan.

Yuri and Otabek were opposites in many ways, but that was why they had made such good friends. They complemented one another, filling in each other's gaps, and they both helped each other maintain their sanity. It only stood to reason that they'd be opposites in this. But normally they could find compromises...not today.

Not ever.

Yuri sighed, tired of the negative thoughts. His gaze drifted to the table where Yuuri's old glasses still sat. He had no use for them anymore since he'd gotten a new pair. That meant Yuri could keep them, right? He liked having just this one small connection to his crush.

The memories from the night before washed over him. Since he'd finally cleared things up with Yuuri, they could be friends now. They would hang out during practice, and he'd invite him to meals with the others. Slowly but surely, their friendship would grow until Yuri didn't need Otabek any longer.

But that felt wrong. So wrong. Yuuri shouldn't be a replacement, and Otabek should be here by his side. Best friends were supposed to be forever, weren't they?

Forever unless you're gay.

Maybe Yuri didn't need a best friend at all. He'd never had one before he met Otabek. He could be strong on his own.

Yuri stood and hiked his bag onto his shoulder, determined to be the best skater on the ice today.

…

Yuuri couldn't believe Yakov had forbidden him from performing a quadruple flip in the Grand Prix series. Yakov wanted him to work on landing his quad loop instead since he'd never successfully landed it in competition. That was just an excuse though. He knew Yakov was worried that Viktor's signature move would set him off again, so even though Yuuri wanted to keep it in his arsenal, he followed Yakov's orders during practice.

None of the other skaters under Yakov's training had been able to land a quadruple loop. Otabek and Yuri had both been trying for months, but never with success. Yuuri had landed it before in training a few times, but he was far from consistent.

“You need to jump higher, Katsuki.” Yakov grunted and nodded for Otabek to give it a try.

His form was flawless as usual, but he only made it into a triple.

“Not enough rotations, Altin.”

Otabek skated over to stand next to Yuuri and crossed his arms. He kept his eyes trained on Yuri Plisetsky, the hint of a glare touching his features.

Elegant as always, Yuri glided across the ice and performed a three turn to get onto his inside edge. His feet crossed and then he jumped into the air, revolving so fast it was hard to count the spins. One, two, three, four. He landed on his right foot, arms opening to the sides to help his balance. It happened so fast that Yuuri didn't realize he'd succeeded until Yakov shouted the most enthusiastic congratulations he'd ever heard from the man.

He could have sworn he saw Yuri smirk before he skated to the sidelines for a well-deserved break. After the mess Yuuri had walked into last night, he had expected Yuri to be a train-wreck today, not at the top of his game. Otabek had been very obviously ignoring him all morning, so he didn't think they'd worked things out. Perhaps that was just how Yuri was—he turned his pain into determination.

Yuuri wasn't sure if he could do the same, but he would certainly try.

…

During break all the skaters went out to lunch together. Yuri sat next to Mila, while Otabek and Lev piled into the other side of the booth and Yuuri took the chair on the end. Yuri glanced up at Otabek, but he was absorbed in his menu. A silly thing, really, since Otabek always ordered the same thing.

The waitress came to take their orders, and then Lev started telling Yuuri about how he met his crush. (He was relieved that the newbie was welcoming Yuuri to the group.) Since Yuri had already heard this story a million times, he scrolled through Instagram on his phone.

Mila nudged him just as he was liking a picture of the recently retired Christophe Giacometti reclining in a beach chair. “What?” he muttered to Mila as he scrolled down to a pic of JJ and hurriedly scrolled past it to a picture of Georgi holding a rose. He cringed as he clicked on the heart beneath the photo—it would make Georgi feel good since he hardly got any likes.

A message popped up in his texts, so he clicked on it. From Mila. _What's the deal with you and Otabek?_

_We are NOT talking about this now,_ Yuri replied.

_Yes, we ARE!!!!_

_Not here._

_Say you have to go to the bathroom._

Yuri stared at the text in confusion. Mila nudged him with a sharp elbow. He sighed and stood, announcing to the group that he needed to use the restroom. Lev's loud laugh faded into the distance as Yuri walked to the bathroom. He stood just outside and leaned against the wall, trying to look casual and not like a creep.

A moment later Mila appeared. She grasped Yuri's arm and pulled him into the men's restroom.

“What the fuck, Mila?”

She bolted the door and turned to face him. “Tell me what's going on,” she demanded, placing her hands on her hips. “You and Otabek haven't spoken in weeks. This is getting ridiculous. Did you say something stupid again?”

Yuri rubbed at his arm. “No. Yes. Well, sorta. But I don't think that's why he's upset.”

“What did you do then?”

“Fuck, Mila. I told him I was gay!” Yuri's shoulders shook, and he felt a sob deep in his throat.

Mila took his hands into hers. “Oh my goodness. Yuri, are you okay?”

He peeked at her through his long lashes. She did look genuinely concerned, her bright blue eyes focused on him, her expression soft and comforting. “No, I'm not okay. I'll never be okay. Otabek hates me, and there's nothing I can do about it.”

“That surely can't be true. Otabek was never mean to Viktor or Yuuri. Maybe he's just feeling awkward because you're his best friend.”

Yuri didn't understand what that had to do with anything.“What do you mean?”

“Maybe he thinks you like him.”

Yuri snorted. “That isn't something he should worry about. I've already got a crush on somebody else.” A bad crush that wasn't going away anytime soon, if ever...

“So maybe you should tell him about it.”

“Absolutely not! What if he really does hate me? Then he'll just use it against me.” Yuri covered his face with his hands, and the warm tears slipped through his fingers.

“He wouldn't do that. You've just got to give him a chance.”

“Oh, like how he's given me one?” Sarcasm dripped through his words. This whole time he'd been chasing after Otabek for forgiveness, and Otabek hadn't made one move to right things with him. “He won't understand, Mila. Nothing I say will change his mind. Believe me. I've tried.”

Mila frowned. “This doesn't seem like him at all.”

“I know. Betrayal sucks.” Yuri couldn't stand being in this bathroom for another second. His chest felt tight and he felt as if he might collapse under these white stained walls, the putrid smell of the urinals, the too-bright fluorescent lights.

He squared his shoulders to stop himself from swaying on his feet, walked to the door, and unlatched the lock. Mila grabbed his arm, but he shrugged her hand off. He yanked open the door and ran straight into Otabek.

“Did you want to talk?” Yuri asked, trying to keep the tears at bay.

Otabek didn't even spare him a glance as he walked into the bathroom.

Yuri's jaw dropped in disbelief. He glanced at Mila, who wore the most concerned expression. That just pissed him off more. He wanted to scream expletives at Otabek, but instead he stormed out of the restaurant, not even bothering to leave money for his order.

The outside air felt nice against his skin, but his breathing was still off, coming out in angry huffs, and he wasn't completely confident in his steps. He followed the sidewalk towards the rink. As he walked, the swaying of the light reflecting off the concrete and the hot sun beating down his back made it hard for him to keep track of where he was going.

He knelt down in the shade of a tree, placing a hand to his sticky forehead and closing his eyes to the dizziness. He focused on his breathing and tried to clear his mind, but the torrent of bad feelings barraged him like pellets of hail. His body was shaking even more now, and he leaned against the cool bark of the tree for support.

Distantly, he wondered if he might faint. Would Otabek care about him then? Would he even feel guilty? This whole mess was so fucking stupid. Otabek was his best friend, and that meant absolutely nothing! He balled his hands into fists and pounded them against the ground. He'd never felt this helpless or lonely.

To Otabek, he was completely worthless. An eyesore. Not even worth a fucking glance. Never in his eighteen years had Yuri considered quitting skating, but the thought entered his mind now and buried itself deep. Otabek didn't want him here. He'd be doing him a favor. And Yuuri got along just fine with Lev and Mila. It wasn't as if he needed Yuri there to help him fit in. _No one_ needed him.

Not his parents. Not his crush. Not his best friend. _His_ e _x-best friend_.

He could quit, go back to school for a while and get a normal job. It sounded boring, sure, but at least he'd be able to get away from all this.

He didn't want to quit. He _really_ didn't want to quit. But he knew that he couldn't take much more of Otabek treating him like the dirt beneath his feet. It was already making him feel like shit. This was supposed to make him stronger. He was supposed to be more determined. Where had all of his confidence gone?

How had Yuuri bounced back from being so disheartened? He was so much stronger than Yuri had ever given him credit for. Oddly enough, just thinking about Yuuri calmed him down. His breathing became more regular, and the obsessive thoughts moved to the back of his mind. He thought of Yuuri skating in the rink last night, how beautiful he'd been.

Yuuri had made it through losing the person most important to him. Perhaps Yuri could do that too. He wasn't sure, but he felt a little better knowing that it was possible. Maybe he would ask Yuuri about it someday, when they were closer and he didn't feel so awkward around him.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to read the message.

Yuuri: _Are you okay? Yakov is about to start training._

Yuri couldn't help but smile, even through all the sadness. With Yuuri by his side, he felt confident that he could skate at least one more day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that this chapter took so long. I felt sad for neglecting this fic, but I had a lot of real life things to take care of. Thankfully, I should have more time for a while, so I will try to get up Ch. 5 next week! Thanks again to @yuriyuu on tumblr for helping me work out some plot and pacing issues with this chapter. XD
> 
> Otabek's POV did not make it for this chapter, but he will definitely get a say in the next chapter. As usual, feel free to leave comments. I'll try to respond to them faster this time since I'm planning to get Ch. 5 up so soon after. Hope everyone is enjoying the fic so far. We are definitely riding the angst train at the moment~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I apologize that this chapter took longer than expected. Unexpected stressful things came up, so that set me back by a week. I won't promise that the next chapter will be fast, but I will aim for two weeks from now. xD
> 
> Thank you all for your patience and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Kudos and comments much appreciated!

Otabek Altin couldn't help but glance at Yuri as he arrived a few minutes late to practice. Yakov gave him a disapproving scowl but didn't reprimand him. He was probably still feeling proud of him for his quad loop before lunch.

Otabek skated to the end of the rink to start his warmup, feeling anger and a twinge of guilt in his chest. It was his fault that Yuri left the restaurant early—that Mila had needed to cover the cost of his meal. His fault that Yuri was trying so hard in training to win back his friendship. His fault that Yuri looked as if his favorite cat had died.

He shouldn't be blaming himself though. Yuri's behavior _was_ stupid and childish. It was only right that he ignore him.

After what he had learned, he could no longer see Yuri as his friend. They could never be friends again. Yuri had lied to him and misled him, the ultimate betrayal of a so-called best friend.

As the afternoon session began, Otabek only half-listened to Yakov's instructions. Mila kept throwing him dirty glances. No doubt Yuri had shared the situation with her, and she'd taken Yuri's side. She always did. Even Katsuki and Lev seemed to be eyeing Otabek warily.

Was this how it was going to be from now on? With the whole group ostracizing him just because he and Yuri weren't getting along? He hated that, and he hated Yuri for causing this whole mess.

If only they'd never met. If only he'd never ridden his bike into the streets of Barcelona and rescued Yuri from his obsessive fangirls. If only he'd responded to Yuri's “What's with you, asshole?” with “Fuck off.”

He should have known that someone who called him an asshole the first time they met would only turn out to be an asshole himself.

Distantly he heard Yakov tell him to pay attention, and so he started over his warmup of backwards crossovers. He leaned his body inwards, transferring his weight from foot to foot, using his anger to propel him faster and faster across the ice. Until he smacked into something and nearly lost his balance.

He blinked, disoriented, and turned to see Yuuri Katsuki on the ground beside him, rubbing his hands. They'd collided back to back. Otabek had only rocked a bit and steadied himself, but Katsuki had fallen forwards, his hands saving him from smacking the ice headfirst.

Otabek was about to apologize when he heard Yakov's loud voice. “Altin! You're supposed to look down your arm to see if anyone is behind you. What has you so off today?”

“Nothing,” Otabek growled, but the anger was apparent in his voice.

Yakov uncrossed his arms and pointed to the door. “Take a break, Altin. I want you to cool off before you get back on my ice.”

“But—”

“No _but's._ You could have seriously injured Katsuki. Go get some water in the snack room. Don't come back until you're calm enough to pay attention to your surroundings.”

Otabek was so angry he could barely think. He skated off the rink, without looking at any of the other skaters—although he could feel all their eyes upon him.

When he reached the snack room, he barely noticed his surroundings—the cream-colored walls, the various floral paintings throughout, the brown-tiled floor. He stormed straight to the back corner where the windows hung along the wall with white curtains and kicked the refrigerator door.

“Someone has anger issues.”

He whipped around to see Mila standing in the doorway, her arms crossed. She didn't seem the least bit afraid of him. She slunk over to the nearest table and sat down facing him. “I'm disappointed in you,” she said at last.

Otabek snorted and met her gaze. “I don't know what lies Yuri told you to get you on his side, but Yuri is the one you should be disappointed in. Not me.”

Mila raised an eyebrow, looking royally offended. She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “There's _nothing_ wrong with who Yuri is.”

“But there's _everything_ wrong with how he acts.”

Mila scoffed. “Oh my god. It's not as if he's rubbing it in your face. He told you because he trusts you, and you've just been treating him like garbage. You haven't even tried to understand, have you?”

“I _do_ understand. I'm painfully aware of it, okay?”

“Why won't you even listen to him?”

“Because he just keeps saying the same things over and over. _You're not good enough to beat me or Katsuki, but I think you can make it to the podium one day._ He doesn't think I'm as good as him plain and simple.”

Mila tilted her head to the side, then let out a soft giggle. “That's what this is all about? Seriously? You're upset because Yuri wins more medals than you do?”

“I'm not upset about that. Just...that he doesn't believe in me.”

“Didn't you just say that he told you he did? You can't just hate the guy for wanting you to catch up to him.”

“That's not how it is,” Otabek said in a rush. It was true that he hated Yuri, but it wasn't because of that. Well, not entirely. Sure he hated that Yuri didn't see him as an equal. Hated that Yuri was always better than him. But most of all...he hated that he had fallen in love with him.

It was so stupid that he loved someone who thought of him as inferior, a skater not worthy of making the podium. Their whole friendship had been based around how they felt on equal standing with each other. And then he'd discovered that Yuri had lied about that. All this time he'd been thinking of Otabek as “not real competition.” That bothered Otabek more than anything else—shook him to the core.

“Then explain it to me,” Mila said softly. She'd stepped down from the offensive and was now approaching him with concern. He shouldn't have blamed her. She was only looking out for her friend, liar he may be.

“You wouldn't understand,” Otabek mumbled.

Mila scoffed. “What makes you think I wouldn't understand? My best friend Sara is neck-and-neck with me in competitions. We've had our own share of arguments.”

“Yes, but you've always been ranked above her. You've never had to listen to her tell you that you aren't real competition. That the only reason you have a chance of making the podium this year is because Viktor Nikiforov retired. He seems to think I have stage fright or something—or maybe that I just suck at competing.” Otabek couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Mila's words were so soft he barely heard them, but they sent shivers up and down his spine. “But he's right.”

Otabek shot her a glare.

“Hear me out, okay?” Mila said, lifting her hands. “I've seen you practice all these months, and you are _always_ better during practice than during competition. I thought it was probably nerves like Katsuki—or stage fright. Something that couldn't be easily fixed. But it's like, whenever you skate, you're always holding yourself back.”

_You're always holding yourself back._

The words rang through Otabek's mind as a deep realization sunk in. Mila was right. Before Otabek had become friends with Yuri, he'd been the rising star, even placing third at the World Championship. But ever since befriending Yuri, he hadn't been able to compete his hardest. The only times he made the podium were during the Grand Prix series, Kazakhstan Nationals, and Four Continents. In short, all the events where Yuri wasn't competing.

Why was that? Was he intimidated by Yuri? Was that what gave him stage fright?

“Maybe you're right,” Otabek conceded. “But I don't know why I'd be afraid of him. I see him as an equal—or at least I thought...” Could it be...that all this time it was him who hadn't seen Yuri as an equal and not the other way around? “I'll have to think about this some more.” Otabek ran a hand through his short hair, trying to calm the confused thoughts inside his head.

“Good,” Mila said. “But please do it quickly. You ignoring him is really tearing him up right now.”

Otabek nodded. “Of course.” He had cooled down enough to go back to the rink and practice, but he knew his thoughts would be too distracted for that to be safe. Instead, he walked to the dorms, so he could think in the solitude of his room. Better to ask forgiveness from Yakov later than to ask permission.

…

Even though Otabek was being a total dick, Yuri was worried about him. He'd never gotten so distracted that he crashed into another skater. And he'd never, ever left practice early. This wasn't like him at all.

Was it all Yuri's fault? He didn't want to hurt Otabek, not any more than he was by his mere existence. If he were anyone else, Yuri would tell him to fuck off and take his homophobia with him, but this was Otabek. They'd been best friends for so long. He couldn't just stop caring about him, even if that would be easier.

Could Otabek feel the same way? Maybe he was angry because he was conflicted. He hated gay people but he couldn't hate Yuri? Or maybe that was just wishful thinking...

Yuri had given up being optimistic about this situation. Too many days had been spent trying to talk to Otabek. Too many nights spent alone playing video games until he fell asleep crying. Hope was just a dream.

“Yuri?”

Who the fuck wanted to talk to him now? He glanced up from his thoughts to see that it was Yuuri. Instantly his anger dissolved and he gave the older man a weak smile.

“Are you okay?” Yuuri asked.

A bitter laugh forced its way through Yuri's lips. “I should be asking you the same question. You fell pretty hard.”

Yuuri lifted his hands and stretched his fingers. “They sting a little, but otherwise I'm okay. Seriously, though, what's the deal with Otabek?”

Yuri shrugged. “He hates me, I guess, so he's taking out his anger through skating.”

“Sounds familiar,” the Japanese man said quietly.

Yuri didn't even try to deny it. Even now, he still struggled sometimes with controlling his emotions while skating.

“I meant me, not you!” Yuuri seemed alarmed.

“Both of us, you mean.”

“Yeah...”

“It's hard not to let your mood affect your skating.”

“Hey,” Yuuri said, a small grin lighting his face, “how about we get in some extra practice tonight? I think skating without Yakov watching our every move will help the both of us.”

Yuri nodded, the tightness in his chest loosening as he remembered Yuuri's beautiful form on the ice the previous night. “I'd like that.”

They waited until after dinner to head back to the rink. Otabek hadn't made an appearance the rest of practice or at dinner, and even though Yuri had busied himself with conversation, he hadn't been able to stop himself from glancing at the cafe's door every time he heard the bell chime above it. No one had seen Otabek since the afternoon skate session.

“He just needs some time alone,” Mila assured him.

Yuri was surprised how quickly she had changed her tune. At lunch she'd been on Yuri's side, even though she'd had a hard time believing what he was saying at first. Had something happened after he left? Maybe Otabek had said something to her.

To make up for walking out on them earlier, Yuri covered the cost of Mila's meal and treated Yuuri and Lev to ice cream afterwards. (Mila refused the ice cream because she was on a diet—the same diet they all were supposed to be on.)

Afterwards, Lev and Mila headed back to the dorms while the Yuris made their way to the rink. They walked in a comfortable silence as a cool breeze snaked its way down the path.

Yuri kept his gaze on his feet, watching his leopard print shoes go up and down against the pavement. He wondered what Otabek was doing. Had he eaten dinner at all? Yuri had thought about bringing him something back, but since they weren't going straight to the dorms, he'd decided against it. Besides, he wanted to avoid the embarrassment of Otabek turning down food that he had paid for—as if that mere fact made it disgusting and inedible.

A warmth suddenly closed around his hand and he looked over to see that Yuuri Katsuki was holding his hand. Yuri turned his head away quickly to hide the blush. Why was Yuuri holding his hand? It didn't make sense. He wasn't over Viktor yet. It was far too soon for anything to be happening...

Yuuri squeezed his hand. “Otabek will come around,” he said reassuringly. “Whatever you two are fighting about, it won't last.” Then he let go, and it felt as if all the air had been sucked out of him.

“Maybe,” Yuri mumbled, rubbing his hands together. It had only been a comforting gesture—purely platonic—but still, it had set his heart racing. Yuuri didn't even realize the effect he had on him. How one touch could make him forget all his worries.

“I'm determined to land that quad loop tonight,” Yuuri said confidently. “Can't have my rinkmate showing me up at competitions.”

 _I want you to win gold this year_ , Yuri wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut and just smiled slyly as they made their way into the rink.

…

Otabek, sitting on his couch, stared intently at his large screen TV. He'd been watching every performance he'd made since he debuted in the senior division. Although he didn't appear nervous in any of them, it was clear that his performances before meeting Yuri Plisetsky had much more certainty to them. He seemed more sure of himself and his moves, more determined to win.

He didn't understand why in the ones after Yuri something was missing. It always happened during his free skate. His short programs were consistently top of the line—all of his practice paying off. In fact, at the World Championship the past season, Otabek had been in second place after the short program, right behind Viktor Nikiforov.

The free skate was what changed everything. Out of the four of them, Yuri had skated first, but he certainly hadn't skated his best. In contrast, Katsuki followed that with the performance of his life, surpassing Yuri's score by a good thirty points and stealing first place from him. And then Otabek...

He watched the recording intently, but it wasn't the visuals that caught his attention. The commentator's words rang throughout the room. “And now we have Otabek Altin of Kazakhstan. After coming in second during the short program, he has a good chance of making the podium this year.”

“Do you think he has a chance of beating Viktor Nikiforov?” the other commentator asked.

“Well, that is a tough question to answer. He's never made scores in that range before. And after Yuuri Katsuki's astounding performance, I doubt he'll even make second. But he has a good chance to knock Yuri Plisetsky off the podium and win the bronze.”

“Aren't they friends? I wonder how Plisetsky would take that.”

Otabek paused the recording, staring blankly at the screen, which still showed him waiting in the center of the ice. His performance hadn't even started yet.

_He has a good chance to knock Yuri Plisetsky off the podium._

That idea. That image...felt so _wrong_ to him. Yuri Plisetsky was the best of the best. He couldn't imagine him not on the podium...

He scrunched his eyebrows together, noticing his tense posture on the screen. It was completely different from his short program when he'd look so relaxed, so ready to impress. But now he looked stiff and displeased, worried even. And Otabek finally realized why.

He wasn't intimidated by Yuri—or afraid to go up against him. Rather, he was afraid to take away Yuri's medal. Because somehow in his mind, he'd decided that Yuri had to win a medal every time. It didn't matter which medal, just so long as he was up there on the podium.

Otabek ran a hand through his hair and leaned his head onto the top of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. All this time he had been holding himself back, just to give Yuri a better shot at making the podium. What an idiot.

He'd never be good enough for Yuri if he was always letting him take the medals. And the worst part was, he hadn't even realized he was doing it. It had just been some subconscious feeling that had affected his skating.

All his anger this week was misdirected. He shouldn't be angry at Yuri at all—after all, he'd done nothing wrong. The only person to blame was himself.

To make matters worse, Otabek had been thinking about confessing his feelings to Yuri, but now that he knew they weren't equals, he couldn't. He knew he had to prove himself first. At the upcoming Grand Prix Final, he would take the gold. Only then would he worthy of Yuri Plisetsky's love.

But first he needed to apologize to Yuri. Before he could overthink it, Otabek walked over to Yuri's room and knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again, harder this time. Still nothing.

“Yuri, it's me,” he called. Nothing. He knew he'd been a total ass that afternoon in the restaurant, but he didn't think Yuri would ignore him when he'd been trying so hard to get his attention. He must be out, and there was only one place he could be.

…

Yuri attempted his quad loop again, but it didn't feel the same as during practice. For some reason, he couldn't seem to muster enough energy for the rotations. He didn't know if it was because Yuuri was watching this time, or if it was because Otabek wasn't.

“God dammit! I don't know what I'm doing wrong.”

Yuuri rubbed his chin. “Hm, could I see it again?”

“Like that'll make a difference,” Yuri muttered, but he still did it anyway because he was determined to get it that night—and Yuuri was actually taking the time to help him.

This time as he went up into the air, everything felt right. For a moment, his worries faded away and he just enjoyed the feeling of the jump. And then he landed...perfectly.

“You got it!” Yuuri exclaimed, practically jumping up and down on the ice.

“Of course I did.” He lifted his chin, a satisfied grin on his lips. “Now we'll see about you.”

The smile vanished from Yuuri's face. He nodded his head to a spot behind Yuri.

“What is it?” Yuri whirled around to see Otabek standing at the edge of the rink, his intense gaze on Yuri and his shoulders shaking as he caught his breath. Yuri didn't even question why he was there, just looked to Yuuri in apology. “I have to talk to him.”

“Go,” Yuuri prodded with a small reassuring smile. “Work things out.”

From the rail of the rink, Yuri grabbed his blade guards and then skated over to where Otabek stood on the rubber mats. He slid the guards onto his skates and tucked a loose strand of pale hair behind his ear. “Can we go to the locker room?” he asked. It was far enough away that Yuuri wouldn't overhear their conversation, but near enough that he could rush to Yuuri for comfort if things went sour.

“Sure,” Otabek said, his tone unreadable. At the very least he was no longer ignoring Yuri. That had to mean something, right?

Yuri felt so tall as he walked beside Otabek to the locker room. Without his skates, he was slightly taller than Otabek, and wearing them only exaggerated his height. So when they got to the locker room, he took a seat on the center bench. Thankfully Otabek followed suit and sat beside him, though there was enough room between them to fit an ice chest.

“So...” Yuri twirled his ponytail nervously. “Are you here to accept my apology?”

“No,” Otabek said. He was stone-still, his hands clenched together in his lap.

Yuri tensed, wondering if he should be afraid. Otabek had never been violent before. This should be fine...

“I'm here to make a declaration,” Otabek announced. He waited until Yuri's eyes met his to continue. “I'm going to win gold at the Grand Prix Final. I'll prove that I can perform better than you. And then we'll truly be equals.”

Yuri sat there, stunned. It wasn't what he was expecting, and he had no idea how Otabek wanted him to respond. It was a challenge...so did this make them enemies? Knots twisted in Yuri's stomach, but he forced his mouth into a smirk. “I look forward to the challenge.”

Otabek's face broke out into a grin. “I hope you like the taste of silver.”

Yuri was even more confused now. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Um, attempting to intimidate you.”

“No, I mean with your face.”

“Smiling?” Otabek raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “What? Did you forget what it looked like already?”

“No, I just don't get why.”

“What do you mean?”

Yuri twisted his hands together in his lap, watching his long, thin fingers. His posture was hunched over, and he felt the loose strand of hair escape his ear and fall across his face. The silence stretched on until Yuri had the courage to murmur the words. “Don't you hate me?”

“No, of course not. That would be stupid. What you said was completely right. I have been holding myself back and not performing my best. It was my fault for reacting so, er, dramatically to it.” He chuckled. “I always thought you were the one with the flair for drama.”

“Just stop,” Yuri croaked. _Flair for drama._ Another jab at his sexuality. He couldn't take this after all.

“Stop what?”

“Pretending,” Yuri spat. “I know that you hate me. It might take you a while to get used to how I am, or maybe you never will, but please don't make fun of me.”

“I'm not making fun of you.” Otabek touched Yuri's shoulder, and he flinched. “Seriously, Yuri. Why would I make fun of you?”

“Because I'm gay!” Yuri shouted, turning to meet Otabek's gaze with a heat-filled glare. Tears burned at the corners of his eyes, but he kept his gaze level.

Otabek seemed taken aback. “What? Are you kidding me? I don't hate you for being gay. Goodness, Yuri. I even told you I was bi.”

“You were just lying because you felt awkward.”

“No, I wasn't. I wouldn't lie about that, trust me. Just check under my bed. I've got gay and straight porn. I may not have dated a guy before, but that doesn't make me any less bi.”

Yuri bit his lip as he tried to process the information. He should have felt instant relief, but he just felt more confusion. If Otabek hadn't been lying, then what had he meant the other night. “You said something about hating the way that I am, what I believe. What else could that mean?”

“I just meant how you didn't see me as an equal. It had nothing to do with sexuality. Have you really been thinking I hated you for that?” Otabek's tone had changed to concern. “Yuri...” He patted his shoulder gently. “I could never hate you for who you love. I promise.”

Yuri nodded, the tears flowing freely again, but he felt happy now. Otabek was telling the truth, he could tell. It really had been his own paranoia that had concocted this crazy theory. Anxiety sucked. “Thanks,” he managed through the tears.

Otabek pulled him into a hug and patted his hair while Yuri struggled to regain his composure. “Are we good?” Otabek mumbled in his ear.

Yuri nodded against his shoulder. “Yeah, we're great.” He pulled away from Otabek and smiled at him. “If you're going to beat me, you're going to have to land your quad loop.”

Otabek chuckled. “I'll land that and my quad flip. Just you wait.”

Yuri was so relieved to see his friend determined again. He had worried that Otabek had lost his motivation—or at least his focus—but now it seemed to be back stronger than ever. This year's Grand Prix Final would certainly be interesting, with both Yuuri and Otabek so determined to win.

“Maybe we can go work on that now,” Otabek said, standing up.

A scream sounded in the distance, and Yuri instantly flew to his feet. He ran into the rink without glancing back at Otabek, though he faintly heard his footsteps behind him. “Yuuri!” he shouted as he caught sight of the Japanese man collapsed on the ice.

“I'll call the doctor,” Otabek said, pulling out his cell phone.

Yuri flung off his blade guards, not even caring if they shattered against the floor, and skated across the ice to Yuuri Katsuki, who lay on his side, eyes closed. Yuri knelt down beside him and checked his pulse. Still beating, thank goodness. Yuri peeled off the gloves to see that his skin, already tender from earlier, was flaming red, as if he'd used his hands to catch his fall. The knees of his pants were worn thin, and when he rolled up the pant legs, he saw that both his knees were bleeding. But that wasn't the most concerning thing...

If Yuuri had hit his head, then that would seriously affect his skating career. Yuri couldn't keep back the tears as he gently stroked his soft, black hair. “Please be okay,” he pleaded. “Yuuri...” It pained him to see him like this. He'd been working so hard and only yesterday had renewed his drive to win, and now it could all be taken away from him.

Yuri felt like such an idiot. He shouldn't have left Yuuri alone on the ice... “Wake up,” Yuri pleaded, squeezing his hand. His tears fell harder now as he became more desperate and more afraid. “You need to wake up, Yuuri. I want you to compete in the Grand Prix Final. I...I want you to win gold.”

He don't know how much time passed in silence as he stared at Yuuri. It might have been an hour, or mere seconds before he felt Otabek's hand on his shoulder. He put his own hand on top of Otabek's, grateful for the support. It felt like his whole world was crashing down, but at least he had Otabek back in his life to help him through it.

 


End file.
